


Waiting for Sunrise

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Tintin (Comics)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-17
Updated: 2003-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1638875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place during 'Prisoners of the Sun', during the 18 days in which Tintin and Captain Haddock are awaiting their possible execution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting for Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for vissy

 

 

 **DAY 18**

I stared at Tintin in disbelief, barely hearing what the man in the clown suit on the throne was saying. 

"Eighteen days... hour you have chosen... atone for your crimes..." 

No, it wasn't possible. Tintin hadn't just sentenced us to death in, what, _eighteen days_ , had he? 

He had! Blistering barnacles! 

A few minutes later we were ushered into a large room, for all the world like a pair of visiting dignitaries. It would have been a great vacation spot if not for the bars on the windows and the resounding 'clunk' of the door as it was closed and locked behind us. At a glance, I took in the meagre furnishings - two beds, a couple of stools, a table with a bowl of fruit, the tapestries completely covering the walls - but my focus was drawn to my companion. 

"Now, will you kindly explain what this is all about?" He said he'd had a plan. Please, let him have a plan! 

"Not yet, Captain," he said, infuriatingly calm, picking up a peach of all things. "Not yet. But you can be sure of one thing: there's nothing to worry about." 

I shot him my best glare as he bit calmly into the fruit. He might be unconcerned, but I was staring death in the face, a measly eighteen days away. I got up and started to pace, needing to do _something_ to take my mind off the situation. To take my mind off the sweet juice running down his fingers. His words echoed in my mind. "Nothing to worry about," I muttered. "Not a sausage!...We're only going to be roasted alive in eighteen days' time: apart from that, there's nothing to worry about!... To be precise, as Thompson and Thomson would say, nothing at all!" 

I must be desperate to be quoting those two idiots! 

"Come now, Captain. Take heart." He went to the fruit bowl again. "Here, have an apple." 

"An apple!" I grumbled. "Why not? It's not like we're going to die soon, is it? " 

He looked pained, and I immediately regretted my words. Tintin's assurances aside, he knew the truth as well as I did. I sighed. "It's been barely a day since we thought you died in that blasted waterfall. I... Zorrino was broken-hearted, you know." 

"Zorrino," he said softly. "At least _he'll_ be safe, no matter what." 

I was silent after that, unwilling to admit that it wasn't the boy's death, or even my own, that I was particularly worried about. 

**DAY 17**

I had to admit that, as far as prisons went, we could have done a lot worse for ourselves. While I sulked, Tintin and Snowy had done a bit of exploring and had discovered a large alcove behind a tapestry on the far wall, behind which was hidden some sort of commode and a good-sized bathtub. It struck me as odd to find such modern amenities as running water in such a backwards place as this one. Human sacrifices to the Sun! Blistering barnacles! 

Besides explore, though, there wasn't much for us to do. I'd spent a whole five minutes taking in the glorious view through the bars on the window - mountains. Spectacular. A servant had brought us supper last night, and breakfast this morning, entering and leaving without a word. 

"Do you think Professor Calculus is all right?" Tintin asked out of the blue, snapping me out of my thoughts. 

"Haven't got a clue," I admitted. "Probably living like a king, just like us." I remembered what Tintin had told me about Cuthbert's state, the last few times he'd been spotted. "Or sleeping through the whole thing. Wish _I_ could." 

"Hm," Tintin said thoughtfully. When he didn't add anything further, I went back to my pacing. 

**DAY 16**

I'd had enough of pacing - or rather, it had worn me out. I sat on the floor, legs folded under me, my back propped against the side of my bed. I was beginning to figure the whole thing out: the plan was for us to become so bored, so frustrated with the waiting, that we'd welcome our deaths with open arms. 

"We should talk," Tintin said, from where he was sitting by _his_ bed. 

"About what?" 

"I don't know. About anything. Tell me about yourself." 

"About myself?" I frowned. Not my favourite topic of conversation, by any means. 

"You've been a sailor for, well, for a long time, I imagine. I'm sure you have quite a few stories to tell." 

I suppose I did, at that. So I told him about the ships I'd sailed on as I worked my way up the ranks to Captain. The places I'd seen, the ships I'd commanded, back in the days when I'd been a half-decent Captain. No, to tell the truth, I'd been a _great_ Captain, before the drink took me, before Alan. Some things, I skipped over, though. Things a boy like him didn't need to know about a sailor's life. 

And then it was his turn to talk. He was so young, and yet he'd seen so many things, faced so many dangers. Opium smugglers, haunted Scottish castles; hell, this hadn't even been his first trip to South America. And, thundering typhoons, I'd been no help, not really. My memory's still hazy about it, but I'm pretty sure I almost killed him myself more than once, back when we first met. 

He'd done so much, and yet he had so much more to do, to see, to experience. So many more people to help, if it came to that. He deserved so much better than to perish like this in the company of a grumpy old sea dog. 

**DAY 15**

A sharp bark startled me out of my light doze. Blinking, I turned my head to see Snowy speed by, that ratty old newspaper in his jaws, Tintin not far behind him. I watched silently as they played together. 

The mutt had been surprisingly well-behaved, I had to say, considering our captivity. He barked happily, tail wagging, pausing every now and then to give his master a playful lick. I hoped they'd set _him_ free, at least. Maybe the Sun had no use for animal sacrifices, not when he had humans to appease him. It would be easier on Tintin, knowing that at least one of us would make it out alive. 

My eyes lingered on his face, so carefree, laughing - a rare enough sight. Full of hope. 

With a grunt, I turned my back to them and buried my face in my pillow. 

**DAY 14**

We were just finishing our breakfast, such as it was, when the door opened. Expecting it to be only the usual man come to remove our plates, I was surprised to see two women enter with him. While the man gathered the remains of our meal, the older of the women - a portly matron - gestured to us with a vague wave of her hands. I shot Tintin a confused look, which he returned. 

Patiently, the woman held out a couple of brightly-coloured pieces of fabric. Upon closer inspection, they turned out to be thin robes. She then reached a hand towards me and tugged on the sleeve of my jacket. 

"I... I think she wants our clothes, Captain," Tintin murmured, his face flushing. 

"Si," the man spoke up. "Clothes, to wash. Will be returning tomorrow." 

"Erm," said Tintin, uncharacteristically nervous. Taking one of the proffered robes, he disappeared briefly behind the curtain hiding the washroom. When he re-emerged moments later, clothes in hand, I took a brief glance at the way the silky fabric clung to him, then hastily grabbed the second robe. I changed as quickly as I could, ignoring the feel of the soft material against skin more used to rough wool, and entered the main room, thrusting my own clothing none-too-gently into the woman's hands. I was glad that my beard hid my own reddening cheeks. 

With a courteous nod, the man and woman left the room, leaving the younger woman behind. Girl, really, I noted, watching her warily. Her eyes rested on first Tintin then myself before they lowered demurely behind her long, dark lashes. "Inca say all your needs are to be met," she said in passable English. 

Tintin was still watching her politely but curiously; however, something tightened deep within me. Then her hands moved to the fastening of her own robe, and my fear became a certainty. Before I could make a move to stop her, the fabric had dropped from her shoulders, and she stood there before us as naked as the day she was born. I heard a sharp intake of breath from the young man beside me. 

"Blistering barnacles," I raged, furious not at her but at the man who had sent her. Grabbing a blanket from my nearby bed, I hurried over and draped it around her, careful to hide all of her... attributes. She clutched the covering tightly around herself, shrinking back from me in alarm. 

Tintin shot me a sharp look, which I ignored, then hurried towards her, his voice soothing. "It's all right," he said softly. "We won't hurt you. This..." he gestured at her dropped robe, "this really isn't necessary." 

"But," she said in confusion, "you are men. You are _white_ men; your needs are-" 

I felt a slow burn in the pit of my stomach. "We are _civilised_ men," I bit out. "We don't need a young slip of a girl like you to take care of our needs." 

Tintin coughed suddenly, loudly, and I immediately regretted the wording of that last statement. Too late for it now, though. "You know what I mean," I growled. I bent and picked up her robe, and placed it firmly in her hands. "You go and tell that gold-plated galliwasp that we're made of sterner stuff than he thinks." 

The girl left, looking shaken. Tintin turned to face me, something like disapproval in his eyes. "What?" I snapped before he could say anything. "Would you rather I'd let her stay? I could have stepped into the other room, given you two some privacy." 

"Captain!" he exclaimed, embarrassed, but persisted. "Don't you think you were a little harsh on her? After all, she was only doing as she'd been told." 

I glowered at him, not caring to answer, ignoring the fact that the same question was running through my own mind. I was unwilling to admit that what had sent me into such a rage wasn't the fact that an innocent young lady had been sent in to be ravaged by the white devils, but rather the thought of Tintin giving in to her, touching her, being touched by her, and having to bear helpless witness to it all. 

He was watching me, waiting for my reply. Deliberately ignoring him, I turned away, settling on the floor with my back to him, wrapping myself in my robe as best I could. 

**DAY 13**

Tintin had been quiet all morning, but I knew from the thoughtful looks he kept shooting me that it was only a matter of time before he brought up yesterday's debacle. When he spoke at last, though, his soft tones took me by surprise. 

"Captain, tell me about love." 

I stared at him in shock for a long moment. "What?" 

"Love, Captain." 

"Look, my boy, if you think what happened yesterday had anything to do with _love_..." 

His face reddened a bit. "Of course not," he stated emphatically. "It's just that, well, I've always been too busy with other things, pursuing other interests, and I never really had the time for anything like that. I suppose I'm just curious." 

Dear God almighty! For the first time I began to think that perhaps I should have let the girl stay. A good-looking, sensitive boy like him shouldn't have to die a virgin. And just how in blazes was I supposed to answer those innocent questions of his without giving away more than I was prepared to? 

"Well, lad, it's more than the drop of a robe and a flash of skin, I can tell you that." 

"Have you ever been in love?" he asked me curiously. 

My mind flashed with images of entwined bodies, warm skin, the easing of loneliness on rough waters far from home. "I guess I have," I admitted. "Some might call it that, at any rate." 

"Who was she?" 

Ah, now there was the question. I stared into his friendly, earnest face, trying to find some hint that, if I were to answer truthfully, I'd still have a friend left afterwards. Finally, I sighed. 

"The sea," I told him. "A fickle lady - every sailor's lover." 

He knew I was lying; I saw it in the hurt that flickered briefly in his eyes. But he nodded and, thankfully, let the subject drop. 

**DAY 12**

It was that dratted conversation that did it, that had me waking up with a gasp after a night of dreams the likes of which I hadn't had in far too long, an aching hardness between my thighs. I shot a panicked glance at Tintin, hoping to see him fast asleep. I wasn't surprised, though, to see his eyes open and watching me, his expression unreadable. 

"I'm sorry, Captain," he said. 

I frowned. "Sorry for what?" 

"I shouldn't have asked you such a personal question yesterday. It's really none of my business." 

"It's just complicated, that's all," I admitted. 

His eyes left mine. "I know," he said quietly. "You were talking in your sleep." 

The rush of cold fear I suddenly erased any - ardour - my body had been displaying. "Was I?" 

Still not looking at me, he said, "You called out a name." 

_Not his, dear God, please let it not be his!_

"I never realised that you and Captain Chester were _quite_ that close." 

I nearly fell back on my pillow in a fit of relief. "Few did, lad." 

He nodded. "Was it...? Did you...?" 

I sighed, taking pity on him. "We were young," I told him. "It was on the _Ville de Nimes_ , the first ship I ever sailed on; we shared bunks. I had about as much 'life experience' as you, though I had enough to know that women didn't much interest me. He took me under his wing, as it were. It's not uncommon, in the navy." 

"Did you love him?" 

I thought about that. "I suppose I did. We sailed together for a few years, then met up in port whenever we could for a few more. When we ran into him in Greenland, I hadn't seen him in, oh, ten years at least." 

"Was he the only one?" 

I shot him a look; he was still staring at the ceiling. "Does it matter?" 

"No, I suppose not." 

I waited a while longer, but the interrogation seemed to be over for now. He got out of bed, dressing rapidly, and went about his morning routine, neither avoiding nor approaching me. I made my own ablutions, and then played with Snowy while Tintin stood at the window, gazing out at sky and mountains, lost in thought. 

**DAY 11**

I think it was his tone of voice that shocked me more than the request itself. Normal, matter-of-fact, as if he was suggesting a visit to a restaurant instead of asking me to... to.... 

"Have you gone mad?" I roared. 

To his credit, he held his ground. "Not at all, Captain." 

"Well, if you haven't, then I have." Why else would a boy like him ask an old dog like me to... 

"I'd like you to show me," he repeated insistently. 

"Show you what, exactly?" I asked him, trying to buy myself some time. 

"What you were talking about yesterday. What you and Captain Chester used to do." 

That's what I was afraid of. "Tintin, do you have any idea what you're asking?" 

"Yes," he stated. "I think I do." 

I sighed. "Then why, by all that's holy, do you want that from _me_? Look, sending that girl was a bad idea, but they probably have lots of male servants who'd be willing to... serve. Someone more your age." 

His eyes glinted, and he stepped up to me, gripping my arm tightly. "I don't want a random servant, or a stranger. I want someone I know, whom I already trust implicitly. Someone to 'take me under his wing,' as you said yesterday." His voice softened. "I want you." 

I stared into those pleading eyes, trying to swallow past the lump that had formed in my throat. "You want someone to experiment with in your last days of life," I said, not unkindly. "I just happen to be the one who's here with you." I saw him wince, but I took no pleasure out of being right, this time. "I can't do that, Tintin. Not even for you." 

His hold on my arm loosened. "I'm sorry, Captain," he said, his voice shaking. 

I reached a hand up to grasp his for a moment, then removed myself from his grasp. I was turning to head for the other side of the room when he continued. "But you're wrong. It is you I want, even if you don't want me." 

I paused and looked back at him. "Trust me, lad, it's not a matter of not wanting you." 

His eyes widened, but before he could say anything further, I had turned away once more. 

**DAY 10**

Insane. He was driving me insane. And, damn it all, he was doing it on _purpose_! Shooting me little looks every once in awhile, brushing his hand against mine while reaching for fruit at lunch - not to mention deliberately licking the juice from his fingers in the most enticing way possible. 

I tried my best to ignore the jolts of sensation that were determined to course through me every time he moved. Did my best to tell myself just how very wrong, how unforgivable it would be for me to touch this boy. My body, though, was becoming more and more difficult to persuade. 

Dear God, but I needed a drink! 

**DAY 9**

This time, when the wash-woman came, she was thankfully alone. Though that didn't alter the fact that Tintin and I were left once again alone in those flimsy excuses for robes. Nor did it help that the air was turning cool as evening approached, the breeze through the open window making us shiver. 

I lay in bed that night, unable to sleep, caught between the chilled air and the blazing heat of my thoughts. It was late, and I'd thought that the other occupants of the room were fast asleep - judging by Snowy's snores, at least one of them was - when I heard the light rustle of blankets from the other bed. A moment later, to my dismay, a warm body insinuated itself between the sheets of my own bed, curling up to my side. 

"Tintin, what in blazes do you think you're doing?" 

There was a puff of soft breath on my ear, and I bit back a groan. "Getting warm," he said. "I don't want us to freeze." 

I supposed I could have argued with that, but for once, I didn't want to. I waited, trying to relax as he settled in more comfortably next to me, draping an arm across my chest. He was right, it was much warmer this way. Too warm, actually. 

He was asleep in minutes. To my surprise, I dropped off not long afterwards. 

**DAY 8**

I woke to a soft, sweet sensation across my cheeks and lips, though I barely had the chance to wonder how an anteater had gotten into our room before it was gone. I opened my eyes, disappointed despite myself to see Tintin extricating himself from his side of the bed; I was already missing his presence by my side. 

At my sigh, he looked over at me. "Good morning, Captain." 

"Hm," I grunted non-commitally. "Might as well be up bright and early; after all, we have plenty to do, people to see, places to go." 

The look he gave me was only slightly exasperated. "We _could_ have plenty to do," he suggested with a smile, and I glared at him. 

"When are you going to give up on this foolishness?" I asked him, exasperated a bit myself. 

"When I'm satisfied of your answer," he replied, still infuriatingly calm. 

"Look, lad," I said, determined to drive the idea from his mind once and for all. "Even if I wanted to go through with it, and I'm still not admitting I do, it's a matter of, well, capability. Staring death in the face doesn't do a whole lot for an old man's... passion." 

He smiled, walking over to me, reaching a hand up to stroke my hair, my beard. "Perhaps we could take your mind off our impending doom, then," he said, and, leaning forward, brushed his lips against mine. 

It was a familiar sweetness, and I realised that it had been those same lips that had woken me. Unable to help myself, I leaned into his kiss for a brief eternity, then, with more self-restraint than I would have credited in myself, gently pushed him away. 

"Captain," he said almost plaintively. 

"Don't ask this of me, Tintin," I whispered, my own voice none too steady. "Just put it out of your mind." 

"It's too late," he said, smiling humourlessly. "Ever since you told me about your... tendencies... my mind's been filled with images of you. Of us. It's something I want to experience, now, before it's too late." 

"Ah, so now you do believe we're going to die," I cried, almost smugly. 

He frowned. "Perhaps, but I still have hope that we'll get out of this alive. But, Captain, when we do, it'll be back to our old life, with the Professor, and Nestor, and the Thompsons. Who knows when we might have this opportunity again?" 

I had a sudden vision of that possible life - Tintin lying sleepy and sated in the large, sumptuous bed in my all-too-lonely room at Marlinspike. Of Nestor at the door with a fresh monocle for me, of that blasted phone ringing, of Snowy chasing that fleaball of a cat all over the Hall. But with Tintin there, looking at me with the same hopeful gaze he was giving me now, the hassles seemed that much less troubling. 

"Tintin," I said pleadingly. 

He pulled me in once more for another brief kiss. "I'll leave you to think about it," he said before crossing to the other side of the room, sitting with his back against the wall and gathering Snowy into his lap. I watched, almost mesmerised, as his long fingers stroked the dog's silky fur, then I turned and fled into the wash area, needing suddenly to immerse myself in very cold water. 

**DAY 7**

Only a week left. I was back to pacing aimlessly; any time I tried to talk to Tintin, he'd give me those not-so-innocent looks of his. Out of sheer desperation, I took to talking to myself instead, muttering as I wandered around the room. Finally, I stopped by the window, grabbing the bars and giving them a tug, not really expecting to move them much. 

"Only seven more days..." I said unhappily. "Thundering typhoons, we're in a real jam." It was an inane thing to mention, really; as if either of us was unaware of that at this point. 

I felt him come up behind me, but before the anticipated touch could reach me, I was back to my pacing. 

**DAY 6**

I was hardly sleeping anymore, getting perhaps one or two hours of rest before succumbing to my anxious thoughts and returning to my mindless pacing. Once more, I was up and awake before Tintin, though as I finished dressing I could feel his eyes on me. Thoughts of our impending doom warred in my mind with thoughts of his pleading glances, and all at once escape seemed my only salvation. 

"How can we get out?" I muttered to myself, trying to formulate a plan - any plan - that wouldn't bring about an even quicker demise. "Who can help us?" I wracked my brain for any possible source of help. "Zorrino, perhaps..." 

At that, Tintin tensed, and sat up. "Don't even think that, Captain!" he said sternly. "That poor boy barely escaped with his life once before; I won't have him placed in danger again." 

I glared at him. He was right, of course. Though if it came down to a choice between Tintin's life and the boy's, I know which I would choose. Even with the knowledge that Tintin would never forgive me for it. 

No, if we were going to be saved, it would have to be through divine intervention. A thought which didn't give me much comfort. 

**DAY 5**

I woke up in a foul mood, which wasn't helped a bit by the sight of Tintin gyrating around like a lunatic. "It's a fine time for gymnastics," I growled at him. "Blistering barnacles, here we are with five days to live, and you do morning exercises." 

"Why not, Captain?" he asked, having the gall to be bright and cheerful on a morning like this one. Having the temerity to show me just how limber he could be... "One must keep fit." 

I bristled at that. Was that supposed to be a jab at my own condition? "Keep fit," I exclaimed. "Keep fit! Thundering typhoons! I don't need exercises to keep me fit! I'll show you just how fit I am: at my age, too!" 

Looking around the room, I saw just the thing. I'd show him who was fit... 

"Watch this," I told him, moving to the end of the table. "A standing jump, feet together, clean over the table. " I got into my stance, readied myself, and jumped. 

I came so close, but far be it for the fates to let even one thing go right in my life. My backside hit the far edge of the table, sending a shooting pain through me, before I landed on the ground, fruit flying all about, my dignity in shards around me. 

"So, you think that's funny, eh?" I growled bitterly, wincing as a particularly ripe fruit shattered on my head, showering me with juice. 

Tintin rushed over to me, not quite managing to cover his amusement with worry. "Who are you talking to, Captain?" 

"To whatever higher power gets its jollies by watching my misfortunes," I bit out, trying to wipe the sticky substance from my face, to little effect. 

"Just a moment, Captain," he said, hurrying off to the alcove and coming back shortly afterwards with a damp towel. "Here, let me." 

I gritted my teeth and submitted to being cleaned up by him, trying to ignore the way his gentle hands moved across my face, my hair, my chest. My breathing grew a bit heavy, and I realised that his had, as well. 

"Got it all?" I asked when he finally moved away. 

He looked at me, his face flushed. "Not quite," he said softly. With that, he leaned in to me and lightly traced my cheekbones with his tongue; I froze as he moved to my ears, then my lips. 

"I think that's got it," he said at last. I could do nothing but stare at him with barely contained longing. 

**DAY 4**

"No one's going to say that I allowed myself to be roasted like a turkey on a spit," I said into the stillness of the afternoon. And it was true - I'd always imagined myself dying at sea. Or at least in a drunken stupor somewhere. "We must do something." 

"You know quite well that's impossible," Tintin stated mildly. 

I wanted to throw something at him. Myself, perhaps, what with the way he was leaning so enticingly against the window. 

"Tintin, lad," I pleaded with him. "For all the regard you say you have for me, for God's sake please _tell_ me just why you're so confident that we're not going to die in four days." 

His eyes met mine levelly. "I would in a second, if I were absolutely certain. But I could never forgive myself if I gave you false hope in this, Captain." 

"False hope! That's a damn sight better than no hope at all." 

He smiled, but shook his head. "No, Captain. We'll find out if I'm right or wrong soon enough." 

"By which time it'll be too late," I pointed out. Steeling myself, I reached over and took his hand. "Tintin, my own life doesn't mean much to me anymore. I've lived it already. But you... I can't bear to think of you..." 

His gaze softened, and he squeezed my hand. "Captain, please. If you have any regard for _me_ , then you have to trust me." 

"You, I have no problem trusting. It's that pack of pilfering pachyderms out there that worries me." 

"It will be all right, Captain," he said, so firmly that, for a few moments, at least, I had no trouble believing him. 

**DAY 3**

I knew our situation was unavoidable, yet I couldn't get the thought of escape out of my mind. There had to be something I'd missed, something I hadn't considered. "What can we do, thundering typhoons?" 

Suddenly Tintin placed himself in my path. "Come now, Captain. Stop torturing yourself. Besides, you're making Snowy dizzy." 

I shot a glance at the dog, who had indeed been watching me pace, then sighed. "I can't stand this much longer, Tintin." 

"I know," he said soothingly. "Come here." 

Giving him a wary glance, I followed him to a nearby stool; perching himself on the edge of the table, he urged me to sit with my back to him. At once, I felt his strong hands on my shoulders, massaging the tension out of them. I groaned with both the pain and the sudden relaxation I felt as he moved further down my back. I leaned into his touch, allowing myself this one pleasure, and when I felt his lips brush my cheek, for once, I didn't take him to task for it. 

**DAY 2**

My hopeful mood lasted most of the morning before despair crashed down on me again. I stood beside Tintin's bed, glaring down at him as he lay with Snowy curled up beside him. "How can you lie there, just lounging around?" I demanded. "Billions of blistering barnacles: we must do something!" 

He sighed. "Trust me, Captain. In two days' time we'll be free." 

"Yes, well, there's a certain freedom in death, I'll grant you that." 

He arched an eyebrow at me and, without a further word, inched over on the bed, making Snowy grumble, before beckoning to me. I stared at his outstretched hand for a long moment, then with a sigh of my own, lay gingerly down beside him. He took my hand in his and we lay there in silence, contemplating what was left of our future. 

**DAY 1**

Less than a day, now. We were both going to die; Tintin was going to be taken away from me. My thoughts were filled with despair, and I sat heavily on the nearest stool, dropping my head into my hands. "It's all over," I moaned. "Nothing to hope for! I never knew things could look so black!" 

Suddenly, he was kneeling before me, his hands on mine. "Captain, I swear to you, it's going to be all right." 

I shook my head, not daring to believe him. 

"Captain, please," he murmured, then sighed. "This has gone on long enough." 

I finally raised my head at that, and blinked at his stern expression. Without a further word, his grip on my hands tightened and he stood, pulling me to my feet. Ignoring my confused 'Tintin?", he tugged me over to the nearest bed - his - and turned me to face him. 

"Damn it, boy," I began, suddenly understanding his intent, but he silenced me with a brief kiss. His hands moved to my sweater, pulling it over my head, and it was finally too much for my defences. With a groan, I reached out and quickly divested him of his own shirt before pulling him in towards me, anxious to feel his warm, smooth skin against mine. 

Our lips met again in a searing kiss as our hands explored each other's chests, shoulders and backs. Releasing his reddening lips, I brushed kisses along his jawline and down his throat, revelling in the way he threw his head back, offering his flesh to my mercies. My fingers found his hardening nipples, and the shiver that ran through him as I teased them sent an echo of desire through my own body. 

"Oh," he whimpered, and arched against me as my hands moved lower, reaching for the fastening of his trousers. They moved swiftly, and soon he was standing naked before me. I looked my fill of him until he reddened in sudden shyness, then I reached for him, kissing him again then lowering him gently to the bed. He lay there looking up at me, the heat in his eyes burning a path through my soul. I quickly skimmed out of the rest of my clothes and, not giving myself a chance to turn back, I sank down next to him, losing myself in his touch and his kisses. 

His hands seemed insistent on exploring every inch of me, and I happily returned the favour, adding lips and tongue to the fray. Lord, but he tasted so sweet, so young. He writhed beneath me as my mouth found his nipples, and my hand brushed his stiffening member, grasping it firmly and giving it a quick stroke. 

"Captain!" 

The sheer wonder in his voice inflamed me, and without giving him a moment to catch his breath, I bent and took him deep into my mouth. With a wordless cry he arched beneath me, his helpless cries music to my ears. I released him with a groan, needing to taste his mouth once more, letting his tongue explore my mouth, feeling his hands roam over my body. His hot grip on my own throbbing shaft was almost more than I could bear, and with a growl, I moved atop him, pinning him to the bed, aligning myself with him and thrusting my hips sharply against his. 

"So good," I managed to say as he took up my rhythm, and our mouths met once again as we stroked and moved and urged each other towards ecstasy. 

The previous days' tension had left us too close to the edge for this to last long, and all too soon he shuddered beneath me, whimpered into my mouth, and I felt his hot seed spill between us. A few more thrusts and I was there, too, crying out my completion then sighing his name. 

I carefully moved off him, but his grip on my shoulders held me close. Any regrets I might have were, for the time being, erased by the tenderness in his eyes. I wiped us off with the edge of the sheet, and placed one more kiss on his mouth before pulling him to me again. He settled beside me, his head on my shoulder. 

"Captain, I..." 

"Shhh, lad," I whispered into his hair, and he was silent once more. 

It was barely late afternoon; we had loads of time before tomorrow, time to explore each other fully. For now, I basked in the warmth of him, and smiled, finally unconcerned about what was to happen tomorrow. 

Tintin seemed to blaze with the light of a thousand stars. What was one measly sun, compared to that? 

The end. 

 


End file.
